


Strangers

by firebird1980



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst??, Fluff, Gay, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firebird1980/pseuds/firebird1980
Summary: Thank you for reading! This was based off quite a few different headcanons, both personal and other, but the idea's been rattling around in my head for a while. Let me know if you like it, hate it, whatever - but nicely, please :)





	1. Ignorance

He was insufferable.

It had been three weeks since the trials. Three weeks to compose himself, to accept his new status, to adjust to life at Hogwarts once again. Three weeks since Harry had sworn in front of the entire Wizengamot that Draco Malfoy was innocent. He'd been the only person there to defend him, to convince the court that Draco was acting against his will. It had been agonisingly hard to make them believe it, but Harry refused to give up. He wasn't going to have any more blood on his hands.

And Draco hadn't even thanked him.

Git.

Harry ran his hands through his hair and slumped back in his seat, trying his best to focus on the class and not on the sleek blond head three seats in front of him. It was a Potions lesson, a theory lesson, and Slughorn had been talking for the last half hour about the importance of keeping a constant cauldron temperature. It was easy to lose concentration anyways - Potions had never been his best subject - but it was as if Slughorn _wanted_ them to fall asleep. This was the case, at least, until a sharp elbow in the ribs jerked him upright again. 

" _What?_ " Harry hissed, snapping his head round to stare at Hermione. She frowned disapprovingly and jerked her head towards the front, where Slughorn stood, staring at Harry expectantly. At a loss, Harry turned to Hermione again, who shook her head. Ron shrugged on Harry's other side, looking as bemused as he was. Harry turned to Slughorn, still staring hopefully at him.

"I didn't catch that, Professor." Harry said quietly. Someone snorted on the other side of the classroom; Pansy Parkinson, probably. She hated Harry, and loved a chance to prove him wrong. Harry suspected it was because she'd never been able to beat Hermione, and settled for the next best. Slughorn opened his mouth, presumably to make some joke about Harry's ineptitude today, but his wristwatch caught his eye - they were running ten minutes late - and he dismissed the class instead. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Harry began to pack away his things and left the dungeon as soon as he could, Slughorn's jovial voice ringing in his ears - "Maybe, you'll be back on form next lesson, eh?" Harry doubted it. His grades had gone down appallingly since he had come back to school;they weren't going to pick up any time soon.

As Harry, Ron and Hermione left the dungeon, someone shoved past Harry, knocking him into the wall and spilling his schoolbooks everywhere. "Hey!" shouted Harry indignantly, dropping to the floor to gather them up again. As Ron and Hermione knelt down in front of him to help him - Hermione anxiously questioning if he was all right, Ron swearing under his breath where the person had elbowed him in the ribs - it was hard to see past them, but Harry could have sworn he saw that same blond boy walking quickly round the corner, as if he would much rather not be involved in the commotion.

Prick.

It wasn't until later that day that anything else of remote interest happened. Ron and Hermione had been bickering all evening over their Herbology homework, until Harry, fed up of listening to it, had gone to bed. Ron followed shortly after, muttering under his breath about Hermione and her perfect grades and her refusal to check over his homework, until eventually the sound of his voice faded into sleep. The moon's light shone dimly through the curtains of his four-poster bed as he gazed idly at the Marauder's Map; it had become a habit of his to keep an eye on the castle, checking for anything suspicious. All was quiet, apart from the usual patrols by the teachers, making sure there was no-one out of bed. Until one dot caught Harry's eye and made him sit straight up.

Draco Malfoy was on top of the Astronomy tower.

Images flooded through Harry's head of the last time he'd been there, accompanied by a wave of anxiety that made his stomach hurt. He hadn't been up there since Dumbledore died. He hadn't needed to be, and no one wanted to force him back up there either. So why was Draco there? More pressingly, why was Draco there in the middle of the night, when everyone else was supposedly asleep? With Draco, the answers to these questions never tended to be good.

Harry decided it was time for a walk.

His feet hit the floor seconds later, his hands searching under his bed for his most prized possession - his Invisibility Cloak. He located it and stood up carefully, pulling it gently over him. Normally he would wake up Ron on an occasion like this, but tonight something held him back. _Not tonight_ , he thought, exiting the dormitory. _Tonight it needs to be me._ Ron had never understood why Harry had stood up for Draco, after everything that had happened. He still saw him as the boy who'd betrayed Dumbledore, who left his school to perish and fled to save his skin. Harry saw this too, but he was - at least, he hoped he was - a little more controlled about it than Ron. With Ron, there was the risk of him leaping out from under the Cloak and trying to throttle him.

The common room was silent as he crept down the stairs and out of the portrait hole. Thankfully, the Fat Lady was away on one of her visits, or there was no telling what kind of havoc she would cause. The painting swung shut behind him as he climbed out and set off for the tower. It was dark in the corridors, save for the torches burning here and there where the teachers patrolled and the ethereal lights of the ghosts, but Harry knew the way like the back of his hand. Soon, he found himself at the bottom of the Astronomy tower.

Harry leant against the door for a while, trying not to let the knot of emotions in his stomach rise up again. _Dumbledore's gone_ , he reminded himself. It was ridiculous to still feel sick about it. It was ridiculous to be stranded outside, afraid of a tower. A tower with Draco inside... That thought finally hardened Harry's resolve. He pushed open the door quietly, and slowly, tentatively began climbing the stairs.


	2. Meeting at Midnight

Harry's anxiety mounted with each step he took, and it became harder and harder to control his frantic thoughts. What if this was a trick? What if some horrible end awaited him, with Draco waiting for him in the darkness? What if he was going to meet the same end as Dumbledore? His foot caught on the end of a step, and Harry staggered and almost fell. _Enough now_ , he told himself. This was Draco Malfoy. He could handle him. Was he a Gryffindor or not?

He was almost at the top of the stairs now. The door lay just a few steps ahead, a sliver of moonlight shining through the gap where it stood slightly open. It was hard to tell, but Harry thought he could just make out a silhouette against the moonlight, leaning over the edge of the railings. Gazing up into the sky.

Now was the time. Harry should go out there. Demand to know what the hell he was doing, up on the Astronomy tower in the middle of the night. Students weren't supposed to be up here anyways, not without a teacher. Especially not in the middle of the night. Especially not when you were Draco Malfoy, and this was the place you allowed a murder to happen.

But... Another voice in his head spoke up. _Leave him be_ , it urged. He wasn't doing anything wrong. Harry was hardly one to criticise his late night wandering, considering how often he roamed the corridors at night. And - he hated to say it, but this was the most peaceful he had seen Draco in weeks. Perhaps even longer. It hardly seemed fair to disturb him, when he looked like that. Leave him be.

Harry stood there for a while, indecisive. What should he do? He had just made up his mind to leave and turned away from the door when a voice rang out behind him.

"A herd of Erumpents would make less noise than you on those stairs."

Harry froze. He thought he'd been quiet, prided himself on it even. But clearly there was no way he could leave quietly now. Repressing a sigh, he reluctantly turned back round and faced the door. As an afterthought, he took off his Cloak and stuffed it into an alcove in the wall. He didn't like the thought of leaving it, but he didn't really want Draco knowing about it either.

"How did you know it was me?" Harry asked. He winced as he realised how stupid he must sound - like a character in one of the Muggle horror movies his cousin was obsessed with. Obvious. He could practically feel Draco rolling his eyes, even though his back was still turned away from Harry.

"Who else would it be? No one else would hear me leaving the common room and bother to follow me all the way up here - which I'm assuming is what you did, of course." Draco's silhouette waved his hand carelessly as he spoke. Harry hastily shoved the map in his pocket. There was no way he would admit to watching his movements on there.

"Then why are you here?" Harry ventured. He half expected Draco to hex him for asking; neither of them had ever been on what anyone would call friendly terms. He most definitely didn't expect an answer. There was a pause. Then -

"To breathe."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "What do you mean?" Couldn't he breathe in the castle? Why here, of all places? It made no sense to him. He flinched slightly as Draco turned, moving towards the door where Harry stood, but Draco merely opened the door. He bowed mockingly, gesturing for Harry to step out of the doorway. Harry hesitated a second, then stepped forward.

"Look up." Draco's voice murmured behind him, and he jumped slightly. He hadn't noticed they were that close. Shaking the realisation away, he gazed up into the sky - and every thought was wiped from his mind.

The sky was alight, thousands of stars scattered across the darkness like diamonds on black velvet. The moon shone gleaming white, and looked so full that Harry half expected it to spill over. The castle below was illuminated, the moon's light casting a glow over the turrets, shadows dark and barely there. There were no lights or clouds to blot out the brightness of the night, and Harry could see every star as clearly as if he was looking through a telescope. It was breathtaking.

Harry was only dimly aware of Draco moving past him, back to the edge of the railings. It was his voice that brought him out of his reverie, breaking the silence that had settled and dragging his eyes reluctantly back to earth. When he looked across at Draco, the other boy raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Did you hear anything at all of what I just said?"

"No." Harry admitted, and Draco rolled his eyes, casting his hand up into the air. It was at this point that Harry realised that Draco was still fully dressed in his ordinary clothes, as if he hadn't gone to bed at all. Looking away over the railings again, Harry asked "So what were you saying?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco glance across at him, then look away. When he started to speak again, Harry noticed something different in his voice. It was... softer. Less, well, like Draco. More open. Vulnerable. "I was saying... The world is further away, up here. There's less to worry about - no people, no classes..." He trailed off for a moment, and Harry thought for a second that he'd stopped, but he continued. "The sky is all that's here. And the sky doesn't care. None of us matter to it - not even the Chosen One." His eyes flashed Harry's way again, and he smiled, just for a second. Then his face closed off again, and his tone became matter of fact. "You should go back now. Rest. You'll need it."

Bemused at this sudden change of tone, Harry nodded and began to leave. But as he reached the door, something held him back. Turning around again, he said "Isn't there enough here - enough to keep you caring?" It didn't sound right, but it was the only way Harry could think of to say it. And Draco must have understood, because he faced Harry with a half-smile on his lips and said simply "Did I ever say that I didn't care?"

Harry couldn't think of an answer to that, so he stepped through the doorway and closed it gently behind him, picking up the Cloak again and beginning the long descent from the tower. He didn't keep track of how long it took him to get back to the dormitory, but as soon as he was in bed he checked the map again. Draco was still in the tower. A sudden wave of tiredness swept through him, and before long he was falling asleep, but the one thing that remained in his mind was the sky. Thousands of stars lighting up the night, and Draco silhouetted against them, gazing upwards, with the same half-smile on his face.


	3. A Ginger Grenade

Harry woke up the next morning with a pounding head and a thousand questions, almost all of them concerning Draco. What would happen now? Would he bring it up, act friendly towards Harry now? What would Ron and Hermione say? How would they react when they found out Harry had gone after Draco on some lunatic midnight mission, and then watched the stars with him on top of the Astronomy tower? Imagining the looks on their faces with a wry smile, he decided not to bring it up. Some things were probably best kept to himself.

"Are you all right, Harry? You seem quiet." Hermione asked over breakfast, as Ron steadily worked through a plate of toast and eggs. Neither of them appeared to be speaking to each other - Harry suspected that this was over the Herbology homework - but years of being subject to their bickering meant that he wasn't too concerned, knowing they'd be on perfectly friendly terms again by the end of the day. Harry pushed some food around his plate idly with his fork, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't rouse her suspicion. He finally settled on, "Yeah, sorry. I was trying to remember the spell that Flitwick taught us last week. Didn't he say he would test us on it?"

Ron looked up at this, an expression of alarm on his face. "Did he? Merlin, I completely forgot. D'you reckon he'd let me off if I said I'd accidentally swallowed some of that memory potion we were supposed to practice...?" he trailed off hopefully, but one look at Hermione's face said otherwise. Mumbling some excuse about needing to go and get ready for the test, he shoveled the last few mouthfuls of breakfast into his mouth and exited quickly, clearly hoping to avoid Hermione's glare for a little while longer.

Hermione followed his retreating back with a cold gaze until he had left the dining hall, then sighed and relaxed, shaking her head. " _Honestly_. I don't know how he'll cope when we leave school. There's only so much of his work that I can help him with."

"Can't you tutor him?" Harry offered. Hermione shook her head again. "I've tried, but he never seems to focus, even when he's staring right at me. It's like he's in his own little world."

Having spent a lot of nights listening to Ron venting about Hermione - most of these rants sounding somewhat like compliments - Harry suspected that there was a reason Ron was finding it hard to concentrate on her teaching. Making a mental note to himself to talk to Ron about this later, he replied, "Maybe you could keep trying, just with something easier. Like Defence, maybe. He's good at that. And he likes you helping him." He worried for a second that this was stepping too far, but Hermione brightened. "You think so? Then maybe I'll try again later. In fact, I've got to find my Arithmancy notes - and haven't you got Quidditch practice soon? We should get going."

Harry agreed and the two of them left the hall soon after, Harry heading outside towards the Quidditch pitch, his mind set on the practice ahead. The day was bright and not too windy; perfect Quidditch conditions. He walked into the Gryffindor changing rooms, not really observing his surroundings, and started when he saw a shadow against the wall. Spinning around to face it, he found himself staring at his Firebolt. A smile broke across his face as he realised what must have happened - McGonagall must have recovered it from the Ministry where it had been kept, and quietly returned it without causing a fuss. Before he knew it, he'd crossed the room and picked it up, running his hands across its surface. It still looked the same as the day he'd first received it, back before he knew the truth about Sirius...

Harry brushed these thoughts aside quickly; he had a Quidditch practice to run, and thinking about Sirius wasn't going to help that. The others began to show up slowly, with Ron and Ginny being the last to arrive. Ginny grinned at Harry when they entered, and he raised an eyebrow back, beginning to talk about his new strategy for the team and trying to keep from thinking about her. They'd properly broken up over the summer - contrary to popular belief, she'd broken up with him. It was much easier for them to be friends than partners; it just hadn't made either of them happy. Now they were back to being friends again, and he'd heard a few rumours about her and Lavender Brown over the last few weeks, which he found mildly amusing, considering she was Ron's ex. But then, who was he to talk?

As his talk finished and the team assembled outside, Ron sidled up next to him. "Sorry for being late, mate. Didn't want to run into Hermione again - it's probably best to let her cool off. By the way," he added in a lower voice, "I think we've got company." With this, he shouldered his broom and headed onto the pitch, leaving a puzzled Harry trying to figure out what he meant. Following a few steps after Ron onto the pitch, Harry blew his whistle, and the team soared into the air.

It was about halfway through the practice that Harry began to understand what Ron meant. Circling high above the pitch, directing the team's movements, a flash amongst the trees on the edge of the pitch caught his eye. At first he thought it was a bad pass that had caught his attention - he was still unsure about using Dennis Creevey as a Chaser, he looked so fragile - but no, he saw it again. A flash of bright, blond hair in the trees. Draco.

Signalling the team to stop, he indicated that they should fly down and go into the changing rooms, despite the confused looks that some of them were pulling. Ron, of course, stayed up there with Harry. "What do we do? He's spying on us! Stealing our plays!" he muttered indignantly.

"We'll have to face him." Harry replied, although he hoped his face wasn't displaying the emotions he was feeling. His stomach was beginning to churn again, with anger - and fear. There would be no way to explain his actions yesterday without Ron getting even angrier. He just prayed silently that nothing would happen, that Draco would leave things be - or that he'd get away before Ron got there.

What he hadn't counted on, however, was his own speed. It had been so long since he'd been on his Firebolt that he'd forgotten just how fast it could move: before he'd even registered that he'd acted, the broom was plunging down through the air, racing after Draco as he turned away, and screeching to a halt in front of Draco. The drop had happened so quickly that it had left his heart racing and him feeling very much out of breath, his cheeks stinging red from the cold. Dismounting from his broom, he turned to face a very still-looking Draco. He raised an eyebrow, hoping his face wouldn't betray any of his nerves. "Going somewhere?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but a crash behind Draco made them both jump. Ron emerged from the bushes, red-faced and almost panting, but somehow still managing to look angry. "What the bloody hell do you think you were doing, Malfoy?"

Draco hadn't moved yet, but when he spoke, his sardonic voice showed almost perfect composure. "Can't a student even go for a stroll these days? Honestly, Weasley. Not everything I do is a crime, you know."

"You were spying on us! Trying to find a way to beat us!" Ron yelled, his temper spilling over into his voice, fists clenching. He was always on edge when it came to Draco, but it was rare for him to get this angry so quickly. Seeing him watching must have gotten to Ron more than Harry realised. Draco, on the other hand, looked calmer than ever, merely raising his hand to flick dust off of his collar, and smirking at the look on Ron's face. "Some of us don't have to cheat to win, Weasel. Maybe someday you'll realise that - if you ever actually find that you have a talent."

It was like watching a bomb go off. Ron exploded, barrelling towards Malfoy with any thought of wands or dignity forgotten, shouting unidentifiable curses and obscenities. Harry lunged past Draco and pushed Ron back, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to look him in the eyes. "There's no point. He'll just keep going. You'll only make it worse." When he finally judged that it was safe to let go of Ron, he did so, letting him stagger back, breathing heavily. Draco stood there still, finally facing them directly, a contemptuous smile on his lips. "You should learn to control that temper, Weasley. Don't want you getting into any more..." his eyes fell on Harry, and his lip curled, " _trouble_." With that, he turned and vanished into the trees.

When Harry and Ron got back to the changing rooms, the rest of the team had gone, presumably off to lessons. But sitting on the bench, waiting for them, was Hermione. She sprang up as she saw them and began to talk immediately. "Is everything all right? Ginny told me something had happened, I was so worried... Ron, are you all right? You look so flushed..."

Not really paying attention to Hermione or Ron's recounting of the events, Harry started to think about Draco. Maybe he was telling the truth - maybe he wasn't there for the practice. But he would never just take a walk like that. If so, what was he there for? And why wouldn't he tell them?


	4. Seeing

It was to be a while longer before Harry had any kind of inclination as to what Draco was doing. Judging that it would be best to keep the confrontations between him and Ron to a minimum, lest anyone else risked being leapt at, he had purposely stayed away from him as much as possible. However, he had been keeping an eye out for him on the Map, especially at night. It was somewhat comforting to know that he was in his dormitory instead of roaming the castle, or up on the Astronomy tower again – which always brought back the memory of that night with the two of them; something he was trying to forget. Nevertheless, he kept watch.

During the day, this proved a little more difficult. He almost never saw Draco outside of lessons; sometimes, he wondered where he went. Maybe he spent his free time lounging around the Slytherin common room, or wandering the edges of the Black Lake. But he never checked. He already had enough on his mind.

However, there were times of the day when it was impossible to avoid seeing him. Potions lessons were one of those times. So once again, Harry found himself staring at the back of Draco’s head, trying to pay attention. It was incredibly important to pay attention today, as Slughorn kept reminding them, because the potion they were attempting to make was “exceedingly difficult. You’ll need full concentration if you want to even come close to getting this right.” He walked up and down between the rows of desks, revelling in the rapt attention that he was receiving. “The Seeing Potion may sound simple, but it is incredibly complex to brew and even more so to have the desired effect. Put clearly, the Seeing Potion is rather like reading tea leaves-” An almost silent huff escaped Hermione’s lips from beside Harry and he had to suppress a grin – “in that the Seer may divine messages from the symbols in the liquid. However, the symbols are chosen by the potion’s maker for the specific Seer’s interpretation; to anyone else but them, the potion remains clear. Extremely gifted witches and wizards can leave different messages for different people, but it is unwise to try, especially if important information is being transferred. The results can be disastrous.”

Slughorn had completed his circuit of the tables now, and was back at the front, surveying the students. He paused for emphasis after this point, then carried on in a slightly lighter tone of voice. “The potion can be used for many things, but its first and foremost purpose is communication. In the First Wizarding War, it was often used to carry messages amongst the Order of the Phoenix, but it is often used for less serious matters – I used to teach a pair of students who used them to leave each other love notes.” He winked in Harry’s direction, and then continued, turning to face the blackboard and pulling it down to reveal lists of names in pairs. “So! Your task today is to attempt this potion, and leave a message for the other person in your pair. Nothing offensive, please – but then, hopefully none of us will be able to proof read them, will we? Your pairs are on the board and instructions are in your books – you have an hour and a half, starting now.”

At this cue, there was a great scraping of chairs as students got up to find their partners, and a general babble began to break out. Harry stayed sat down, searching the list for his name. It was with a start that he realised the name next to his read Draco Malfoy. Looking away, his gaze fell on Draco’s hair a few rows in front, and sighed as he began to pick up his things and move towards him.

Draco barely looked up as Harry came over, raising an eyebrow at him but clearly too immersed in reading through the instructions to make small talk. Harry nodded back, setting up his things and checking through the ingredients list, but all the while his mind was preoccupied with the thought “ _What do I say to Draco Malfoy?_ ”

Draco, however, didn't seem to be facing this problem. He slid the book towards Harry and said shortly "Have a look through, but don't take long - I'll be needing it back in a minute." Slightly irked at Draco assuming control already, Harry replied "I'm perfectly capable of using my own book, _Malfoy_.", throwing all the emphasis he could onto his surname. Far from seeming irritated by this, Draco nodded, a hint of a smirk on his face, and said "As you wish". As he turned and walked away, Harry could have sworn he heard him mutter " _Potter_." Biting back the first response that came to mind, which wasn't exactly what you'd call polite, he started flicking through his book, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Scanning through the list of ingredients and the instructions, Harry quickly realised that Slughorn was right, this really was something you'd need complete focus on. He snuck a glance to his left. Draco stood next to him, eyes trained on the fava beans he was cutting. Sighing inwardly, Harry reluctantly turned to his own ingredients. This could take some time.

Running his hand through his sweaty hair after an hour over the steaming cauldron, Harry closed his eyes, racking his brains for something to send in the message. Slughorn had passed the two potioneers a few minutes ago, raising his eyebrows and giving an approving nod to them both. "You should all be thinking of a message now." He turned, announcing it grandly to the class. "Only ten minutes remaining!" Draco had smirked, leaning back to admire his gently simmering potion. Though he'd spent even more time than Harry with his head over the cauldron, there was only the faintest red flush across his cheek. His wand appeared in his hands as if he'd conjured it there, and began to mutter spells quickly under his breath. Harry turned back to his own cauldron. What could he tell Draco that only he would understand?

Then it hit him. He didn't need to send Draco a message. But a memory...

It was risky. He didn't know if it would work. It definitely wasn't what they were supposed to do. But he did it anyway. Touching his wand gently to the side of his head as he had once seen Dumbledore do, Harry tried his best to hold on to the memory, remembering down to the very last detail - every touch, sight, sound, feeling. Then the strangest feeling came; as if the memory was being gently peeled apart, leaving a layer behind but another layer being taken with the wand. A silvery thread drifted from the end of his wand as he slowly pulled it away. Shaking off the feeling, Harry hesitated a second, then dropped it slowly into the cauldron, waiting with bated breath for something terrible to happen. But the memory only hissed as it hit the potion, then faded back to silvery grey.

"Time up!" Slughorn's voice echoed behind Harry, and he almost dropped his wand. "Swap places with your partners, everyone, and touch the surface of the potion with one finger. Just one! Don't want any of you getting hallucinations, do we?" He chortled to himself as he walked away. Harry looked up and started as he met Draco's gaze. "Ready, Potter?" He asked, the slightest of smirks on his lips. Harry nodded, still feeling somewhat out of place, and walked to Draco's cauldron. The surface seemed to shift as he came closer; the molten silver shifting to a darker blue-black. Slowly, he lifted his hand, curiosity overcoming him. What would Draco have to say to him?

The potion's surface felt warm beneath his fingers, rather than the boiling heat he was expecting. He removed his hand, and as if on a signal, the potion began to change. Flecks of silver bubbled up from underneath and shadows formed along the bottom. Harry watched, enthralled, as the image formed. When it finally stopped moving, it took a second for Harry to process what he was seeing. Two silhouettes under a silver-spangled sky - he gasped. It was the night on the Astronomy Tower.

However, the potion wasn't done. The image dissolved, replaced by what looked like a wall. As he watched, another silhouette approached the wall, and paced back and forth, three times. As the door began to materialise, it fell into place in Harry's head. " _Oh_..." he breathed. He didn't think the Room of Requirement still existed, but then, he hadn't really taken the time to explore since they'd come back. That was when he saw the piece of parchment sticking out from under Draco’s book. Written on it in graceful, careful writing was the simple phrase "Midnight. Be there." Questions swirled through his mind, but as he turned to Draco, they wiped themselves away in an instant.

Draco was staring directly at him, with a face almost chalky white and his eyes wide and unnaturally blue, breathing heavily and almost swaying as his hands gripped onto the edge of Harry's cauldron. Panic flared in his chest, and Harry pulled out a chair right as Draco sank down. "Merlin, are you all right?" Harry asked urgently, praying that Slughorn wouldn't see this. Draco nodded slowly, some of the colour beginning to return back into his cheeks. Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief and sat down in the chair beside him. The moment's silence was broken by Draco, speaking quite unlike usual. "How... how did you do that?" Harry began to answer, but Slughorn's voice cut him off. "Congratulations, class! Your homework will be to interpret the messages you received and their effectiveness of delivery - I'll be expecting a nice long paper from you all. Until next lesson!"

Harry stood to leave, and almost immediately found himself being set upon by Hermione, looking impressed and stern all at once. "Harry, I saw what your potion did to Draco. Was that a memory?" She didn't wait for an answer, but continued. "It was terribly clever magic, but you really shouldn't have done that; it can go catastrophically wrong, didn't you hear Slughorn? I mean, it was Malfoy so I wouldn't really care so much if it wasn't so important, but Harry, it's practically against the law! According to the Ministry, any adaptation of a potion or spell-"

"Hold on a second, Hermione," Ron interrupted, staring at Harry, looking somewhat awestruck. "You just used a memory in a Seeing Potion? What on earth did you share with Malfoy?"

Harry paused for a second, wondering whether he should tell them. "I was thinking of that first night, when we arrived here. When he offered to shake my hand." It wasn't the first time he had thought about that since they had come back, not by a long shot. But he had left out the ending. His own refusal to take Draco's hand. The sadness and the anger he saw in Draco's eyes. He often wondered what would have happened if he had accepted his hand. Where would they be now?

Hermione nodded approvingly, and Ron grinned. "Nice of you to throw that one back in his face, mate." Harry hadn't considered that Draco would see it that way; a twinge of worry tugged at him. However, Hermione changed the subject before it could take a hold in his mind, and things soon returned to normal, all concern about Harry's potion forgotten. Except by Harry, of course, but there was nothing he could do now. He'd just have to wait until midnight.


	5. A Deal with a Dragon

It was ten minutes before midnight when Harry finally crept out of the boys’ dormitories, his cloak obscuring him from view and his map in his hand. He’d been careful to check that the Fat Lady was off on a visit before he got out – she’d been much more prone to them lately. Harry suspected she was visiting Violet more; after all, she had plenty to talk about. Either way, the corridor was silent as the portrait swung open and he stepped outside.

It wasn’t a long walk to the seventh floor corridor, but Harry was exhausted by the end of it – he hasn’t realised how tired he was. So tired, in fact, that it took him a good few seconds of staring down the corridor to process the fact that he had no idea why he was here. What could Draco possibly want with him, alone, out here in the middle of the night? He pulled off his cloak and shoved it under his robes along with the map, pulling out his wand and holding it up. The corridor seemed deserted.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco’s voice rang out behind him, and Harry span around, pointing his wand and jabbing it almost directly into Draco’s face. The alarmed expression in response quickly relaxed into its usual mocking disdain, the spark of panic that Harry thought he had caught there disappearing slowly. Harry lowered the wand, letting out a long breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Christ, Malfoy, I could’ve killed you!”

Draco rolled his eyes at that, stepping away from Harry. “ _Please_. If you wanted to kill me – or anyone who came up behind you – you would’ve done it the second you heard me speak. Assuming you actually heard, that is. You’re rather well known for being astoundingly oblivious.”

Harry chose to ignore this, though he felt his face heat up. “What did you drag me here for, Malfoy? You’ve barely spoken to me since we came back. Don’t you think-”Draco cut across him abruptly, stopping his speech in its tracks. “Questions in a minute. We’re too exposed out here. Hold on.” He turned, and for a second Harry thought he was leaving, but he realised as Draco turned back again and continued his walk that he was opening the Room. It took a second, but slowly, the door emerged – albeit looking slightly more singed than it had before. 

“I had no idea that it still existed.” Harry murmured, staring up at it. Draco looked less than impressed, opening the door and waiting for Harry to follow him in. “Of course it still exists. This castle is practically saturated with magic – there’s almost nothing that can destroy it. The Fiendfyre did a pretty good job, but-” he hesitated, probably remembering that fateful night, the night when Harry – “but the Room was so full of the old magic preceding the invention of Fiendfyre itself, that it survived. Not quite in its former glory, but here nevertheless. Now, are you coming in or not?”

Harry hesitated outside the door for a moment. Was this all some elaborate trick? What would Draco have planned? Why was Harry here? But curiosity prevailed, and he stepped in, closing the door behind him.

For a few seconds, Harry could see nothing but a blur of colour. Then the colours settled, forming shapes and a place that Harry didn’t recognise. The walls were a dark shade of green and the ceilings were high, and a fireplace crackled in the corner, opposite a large four poster bed with green silk hangings that matched the walls. Although the room was spacious, it seemed dark and almost gloomy. “Where are we?” Harry asked. It took Draco a minute to reply, as if he’d forgotten Harry was there. When he replied, his voice was quieter. “My room at home. It helps me think, to be here.”

“No offence, but it doesn’t really look the type of place that inspires creative thinking.” Harry remarked. Draco shot him an icy look, returning to something like his usual scowl. “Much as the feedback is appreciated, I didn’t bring you here to discuss my parents’ interior decorating tastes.”

“Good point. So why am I here?” Harry replied, feeling slightly impatient now. It was about time he got some answers. Instead, Draco walked away from him, standing by a window that Harry hadn’t noticed before. It was high and wide, with a broad ledge and long silver curtains that swept the floor. Outside, the sky was clear and full of stars, which Draco was gazing at, silent for a moment. As Harry opened his mouth to ask again, Draco started to talk.

“Dumbledore left you the Sword of Gryffindor in his will, didn’t he?” When Harry didn’t reply, taken aback that he knew, Draco huffed, answering his unspoken question. “My father is a Ministry man, of course he knew.” Harry wondered if he knew about the Resurrection Stone too, but decided not to ask. That was a story he didn’t fancy retelling. “I know he left Weasley and Granger things too, but I’m not concerned with those – those items were straightforward enough.”

 _Debatable_ , Harry thought. But he didn’t say this. He said “What does concern you, then? As far as I’m aware, whatever – whatever Dumbledore left us was none of your business. What’s this to do with you?”

Draco sighed and shook his head, still looking determinedly out of the window. Harry couldn’t see his face, especially because he was still standing on the other side of the room. He started to walk forward, but Draco started speaking as Harry was a few steps away. “As you might be aware, Potter, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Have you ever considered that maybe Dumbledore left other people things too?”

“ _Yes_.” Harry replied indignantly. He had thought of it, but at that time he’d been a little more preoccupied with Horcrux hunting than pondering the complexities of Dumbledore’s will. Apparently that was enough to appease Draco though, because he continued. “Then have you ever wondered who they were left to?”

“No, but…” Harry began, then it hit him. “He didn’t leave you something, did he?” It came out sounding incredulous, but he could barely help it. What on earth would Dumbledore have to give to Draco? Why would he give something to the boy supposed to kill him? His train of thought was disrupted by Draco’s sarcastic half-laugh. “Surprisingly enough, yes, he did. Supposedly, he still had some faith in me not wanting to murder him. Nice of him to think that when everybody else was convinced otherwise.”

A stab of guilt went through Harry, sure that Draco knew what he was thinking. He may have defended him, but his suspicions had always lingered a little. It really wasn’t the time to be casting aspersions. “Sorry.” He muttered, then changed the subject back to the matter at hand. “So what did he give you?”

Draco’s answer was hesitant, as if he was struggling whether or not to admit it, like some weakness. But he replied eventually, and his answer was short. “The Pensieve.”

The question was out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop it. “Why would he give you that?”

Draco shrugged, an unusual gesture from him. “He probably wanted me to look back. See the good in myself. Convert to the winning team.” Harry couldn’t see him, but he could imagine the sarcastic smile on his face clearly enough. “But why are you-” Draco cut him off again before he could finish. “The problem is, it’s missing.”

Harry stood in silence for a minute, shocked. “Missing? As in, someone’s taken it?” Draco shook his head. “That would be the logical assumption. But no. More like, it was never delivered. After his death, I got a note telling me it was mine, but, and I quote-” He formed sarcastic quotation marks with his fingers. “ _to possess the ability to look back, you must first understand what it is you search for_.””

“What does that mean?” asked Harry, and Draco huffed again. “In ordinary words, it means that the old fool hid the Pensieve somewhere, and now I have to find it in order to “look back” and find whatever it is he wanted me to see.”

It made sense to Harry – after all, he’d spent a year searching for Horcruxes under Dumbledore’s orders. However, he got the feeling that there was more to this than what Draco was telling him. “But what does this have to do with me?”

Draco turned suddenly, meeting Harry’s eyes with startling intensity. His gaze was captivating, demanding but almost… vulnerable? He seemed like a completely different person to the Draco Malfoy that Harry thought he knew, and it made it hard to look away. He held this gaze for a second, then his grey eyes dropped to the floor. 

"I need your help." He murmured.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" Draco looked up, eyes narrowing. "Isn't hearing it once enough for you, Potter?"

Harry grinned. "Definitely not. I want to appreciate the moment that _Draco Malfoy_ , King of Slytherin, stooped low enough to ask mere Harry Potter to _help him_."

Draco exhaled, looked up at the ceiling and back down again. " _Fine_. I need your help, damn you. Happy?"

Harry looked up, meeting Draco's eyes again. "Happy. So, what first?"

Draco looked alarmed. "You want to start now? What on earth are you thinking? It's the middle of the night! Is this how you make all of your decisions? Merlin, Potter, no wonder all your plans are so terrible." Harry started to protest, but Draco interrupted him. "We'll start tomorrow. I'll send you a message."

Harry nodded, slightly amused by this outburst. He turned to leave, but stopped, struck by a thought. "Wait, shouldn't we make it a deal?" Draco snorted, contemptuous. "How? An Unbreakable Vow? A blood agreement? Binding in holy matrimony? Because as much as I'm flattered, I-" It was Harry's turn to cut Draco off. "I was thinking something more like this." And with that, Harry held out his hand.

This time, it was Draco that looked taken aback. A thousand emotions flickered across his eyes - panic, frustration, something that Harry couldn't quite recognise - but then it hardened into resolve. A beat passed, and without looking away from Harry's eyes for a second, Draco took his hand. The warm pressure of his hand was brief but reassuring, and they shook hands quickly. Draco dropped his hand first and stepped away, looking down at the floor. His voice was somewhat clipped when he spoke next. "You should go. They'll wonder where you are if you're not back soon."

"What about you?" Harry asked, looking back up at Draco. He shrugged in response. "I'll stay here for tonight. Pansy and Blaise know where I'll be." It struck Harry as odd that he'd choose to stay here rather than go back, but he dismissed the feeling. Harry nodded, walking towards the door, ready to leave. As the door shut behind him, he distantly heard Draco say "Try not to jab anyone's eyes out with that wand on the way back, Potter." He rolled his eyes, but he couldn't deny the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

All the way back to the Gryffindor tower, the heat of Draco's touch burned against his hand.


	6. Interlude

It had been a long time since Harry had looked forward to the owls in the morning. The letters he used to receive from the Prophet's readers still stung in his memory - especially the more recent ones, after "that vile Skeeter woman" (as Hermione called her) published an in-depth and rather unflattering review of his time defending Draco in court - and after losing Hedwig, he decided not to get another owl; losing her still hurt him more than he cared to admit.

However, this morning he found himself scanning the mass of birds swooping over the breakfast tables with an eagerness which he couldn't entirely disguise. He couldn't ignore the hope that Draco would have come up with a plan by now; he seemed the type to brood over these kind of things, and definitely one to act upon them - hadn't the years of fighting proved that? Yet it was with a slight sinking of the heart that he realised that no eagle owls flew in the crowd overhead. It must have showed on his face, because Hermione and Ron looked slightly concerned. Before Hermione could ask any probing questions again, Harry hastily asked a question of his own. "Have either of you heard from Hagrid lately?". Although he wanted to get the attention away from himself, it was a question that had been nagging at the back of his mind for a while. He had been worryingly absent since the start of term, and whilst Professor McGonagall had reassured Harry that things were fine, he couldn't help being concerned.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully, tapping her fork absentmindedly against the edge of the table. She'd taken up the habit recently, and it irritated Ron like mad - Harry suspected that was part of the reason she did it. She eventually replied slowly with "No, I don't think so. Do you think anything's wrong?" Ron shrugged in response. "We would've heard something by now if there was. He's probably just busy, mate. Why don't we go see him later?" Harry agreed to this, glad to have something to do to take his mind off of the mystery with Draco. Seeing Hagrid was always helpful, even if not always in the most expected of ways.

After breakfast was over, the eighth year students had a free period - supposedly for them to do homework in, but many students had given up on that by now. Instead, the ones who cared could go to extra support lessons to catch up on things that they were meant to learn that horrific last year, or to the therapy sessions held in the hospital wing. Harry had given up on both of these shortly after returning to school; there was no kind of healing from a group where all people asked him was about what it felt like to die, to face your biggest fears, to lose everything and get it back. Now, he spent the time wandering the grounds, finding new places and remembering old ones. He never really noticed how he got there or how he came back; for that he relied on his feet and the castle itself.

Today, on the other hand, he set out with a destination in mind. The sky outside was clear and blue and fresh, as if someone had wrung it out and left it to dry under the sun, and the world looked much more hopeful than it had a few days ago. He could feel himself beginning to smile involuntarily, to walk faster and stand straighter. The great green trees ahead loomed into sight, and the hoops glinted gold in the sunlight. The Quidditch pitch was like a second home for Harry, but he wasn't there to practice today. All he wanted was to go out and sit on the pitch, enjoy the last few days of summer...

His heart sank. There were voices coming from the pitch.

Taking a sharp right turn off the main path, he followed it along, still keeping sight of the pitch, until he found himself in a copse of trees. He could see the pitch clearly from here - with a start, he realised that this was exactly where he and Ron had seen Draco a week or so ago. A figure in green robes sped past the gap in the trees on his broom, and Harry flattened himself against the tree next to him, hardly daring to breathe in case somehow they noticed he was here and suspected him of spying, rather like Ron had of Draco. This brought an unsettling new thought into his mind - what if Draco was doing the same as Harry, trying to get away? A fresh wave of guilt washed over his mind, until he forced it down. _Enough_ , he told himself. _It's just Malfoy._

As if Draco had heard Harry's thoughts, his voice rose above the clamour ahead, shouting instructions at what had to be the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team. He soon flew into Harry's view, cutting a sharp outline against the blue of the sky. Harry had forgotten how well he could fly; it was like watching a dancer, not a Quidditch player. Even in midair, he still carried the same sense of languid ease as he did on the ground. Everything he did was rhythmic, controlled, flowing from one motion to the next, looking like he was barely trying. The beauty of his movement, however, was counteracted by the insults he was hurling at the other players on the pitch. Any mistake that a player made was immediately followed by a barrage of insults - " _Nott!_ Fly lower, you ass, can't you see that you're leaving the Chasers exposed?" " _Greengrass!_ If I see the left hoop being left open _one more time_ , I swear on Merlin I will hex you to fly permanently left _for the rest of your miserable life_." "Zabini, you imbecile, if you don't start keeping your eyes open for the Quaffle soon I will have absolutely no hesitation in telling the very next girl I see that you're head over heels in love with her. _Yes, I know you're gay._ But she won't, will she?"

A grin crept over Harry's face as he continued to watch Draco directing the players, like the conductor of some fantastical orchestra. He couldn't help but laugh at the last one, but stopped abruptly as Draco's head snapped round, as if he'd heard. He took no move to investigate, thank goodness, but continued with the practice. Harry wondered at the good natures of the rest of the team - despite the abuse that Draco was subjecting them to, they continued to laugh and respond sarcastically back, barely taking a word seriously. Harry would never dream of talking to his team the way that Draco spoke to his; he would end up with his feet on backwards before he knew what curse had hit him. He supposed that friendships were different between the houses. The Slytherins seemed to be much more fierce in their friendships than the Gryffindors were. As he watched them descend from the air and walk off the pitch, Zabini slinging an arm over Malfoy's shoulders, he felt a pang of... something. Longing? Sadness? Envy? All of that could have been his, if he hadn't chosen Gryffindor. But he didn't regret his choice. Then what?

As the door of the Slytherin changing rooms closed with a snap, Harry realised he was going to be late back to Potions if he didn't hurry up. He started back towards the castle quickly, running over the things he still had to do. Pick up his essay, find Ron and Hermione, ask Hermione about the study session he missed. Ask Ron about Ginny. And maybe, maybe he could speak to Draco again, and find out what plans he had made for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This was based off quite a few different headcanons, both personal and other, but the idea's been rattling around in my head for a while. Let me know if you like it, hate it, whatever - but nicely, please :)


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